


They'll Lock You Up

by winter_rogue



Series: In Most Walks of Life [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:37:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_rogue/pseuds/winter_rogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a time in the future where this will be easier. A time when almost everything he does doesn’t hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They'll Lock You Up

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING for mentions of torture and ptsd
> 
> Fill for angst_bingo prompt "recovery"

There’s a time in the future where this will be easier. A time when almost everything he does doesn’t hurt. Where he won't forget and turn too quickly or run too hard or reach out-- for silverware and books and his keyboard, for Derek-- only to stumble, to fumble and drop it, sharp pain in every bone and joint. A reminder that he was actually pretty lucky.

At least they didn't cut anything off.

Don’t get him wrong, Stiles is daily grateful that they stuck to bruises and a collection of broken bones. These things will heal-- his physical therapist says he just has to give himself time-- you can’t regrow whole limbs. Not even werewolves can do that, organs maybe but not limbs. Probably not limbs. He wonders idl if maybe Jackson could have regrown a whole arm or a leg back when he was still running around as a scaly werelizard.

Not that any of that matters, Stiles isn't a werewolf or a lizard. All he’s got are flimsy human bones and painful, slow human healing abilities.

 

They broke his tibia and his collarbone after they ran out of fingers, asking questions about Derek, about the pack. They tried to climb through the weakest member to get to the rest. And when Stiles bit through his lip until it bled, when he grit his teeth, eyes leaking angry tears, when they couldn’t get anything useful out of him they drove him out to the Hale house in the woods-- which the pack and recently started fixing up much to his amusement --and drug him through the dirt and leaves, inside.

“We’re going to find them, whether you help us or not. The only one you’re making this difficult on is yourself.” The head hunter leaned against a wooden sawhorse, his boots tap tapping against the bare, unfinished floorboards next to Stiles’ head. 

Stiles grimaced but wouldn’t give the satisfaction of squirming. Not that he could do much squirming, trussed up and broken and bleeding out of a few too many orifices.

A cell phone ringing against the silent night and the backdrop of his labored breaths was discordant. Stiles listened with half an ear and didn’t like how pleased the guy sounded when he said goodbye.

“Well, looks like we don’t need you after all.” Really didn’t like how pleased he sounded. “Seems a couple of your pups got sloppy, came looking for you.” His footsteps moved away, paused on the porch outside, then turned and back back inside. He crouched down and forced Stiles’ head up and back a little to meet his eyes, calculating and flat. “Guess we could still send a message though, since you’re here and everything. Since you’ve been so delightfully uncooperative.”

They didn’t kill him. They just left him there, in the skeleton of a refinished living room, threw a tank of gasoline into the hallway and lit a match.

 

He told everyone he didn’t need a shrink, thank you very much, because he doesn’t, okay? If he wakes up in the middle of the night clutching the sheets and Derek and sweating through his clothes, blind with panic-- that’s normal. He’s been through a traumatic experience, it’s to be expected. It would be more strange if he bounced back from it like nothing ever happened.

Stiles flexes his fingers carefully around the wooden spoon. Derek’s watching him closely from the other side of the kitchen, trying not to look like he’s watching at all. Stiles knows he’s worried. That he has nightmares about the fire, about not getting there in time; knows that Derek just has a lot more experience hiding.

“Smells good, what is that?” Erica pushes into his personal space, sniffing loudly.

“Lemon pie, go away, you can’t have any until it’s ready.”

She growls playfully but saunters off as instructed.

They’re safe, they found him. He’ll take the aches for now, they remind him of these truths.

END


End file.
